


Meeting

by ChocolatteKitty_Kat



Series: Knights of the Round Table [2]
Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 20:03:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17648993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolatteKitty_Kat/pseuds/ChocolatteKitty_Kat
Summary: Knights of the Round Table, a King Arthur fanfiction, Part 1. Set one year before the film. The knights are sent to escort a Roman family out of Britain, and meet someone along the way. Rated for minor violence.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm Jack! Nice to meet you! I'm currently in the process of transferring all of my works from fanfiction.net to ao3 as well, so stay tuned!
> 
> Meeting is the first in a series of fanfictions inspired by the 2004 film King Arthur. Meeting takes place about one year before the film does, in 466 AD. There are currently four stories in the Knights of the Round Table series: Meeting, Reunion, Many Returns, and The Quest. I also have a collection of short stories about the knights that take place from the time of their conscription, up until the film itself, entitled The Stories We Haven't Heard. All of these stories will be making their way to AO3 in the near future! The Quest is still in progress, so I might wait to post it here until I finish the entire thing. Anyways, enjoy! Happy reading! Let me know what you think!

“Ugh!” Gawain groaned loudly, shaking water from his shoulder-length bronze curls as he stepped inside.  
“Do that again and I’ll cut your hair off in your sleep,” Tristan muttered darkly.  
Gawain ignored the dark-haired scout and stomped over to the fire. He squeezed himself between Galahad and Lancelot, both of whom hurriedly made room for him when they caught a whiff of the smell of rain, sweat, horse, and blood that wafted off of him.  
“You reek,” Galahad wrinkled his nose, leaning away from his friend.  
“I hate this island,” Gawain growled, sticking his hands towards the fire to warm them. He slowly started to steam dry in the heat from the flame in front of him.  
“Doesn’t everyone?” Lancelot teased.  
“Doesn’t everyone stink or hate this island?” Tristan muttered, unheard by the other knights.  
“On the bright side, we’ve got less than a year left here,” Galahad pointed out optimistically.  
“Ten months,” Tristan put in. The four knights sat in silence around their fire, burning in a fireplace in the entryway of the knights’ barracks. It was the warmest place in the building during the colder months, as their own rooms had no place for a fire to burn, and the knights tended to congregate there on the rare occasion they had nothing else to do and weren’t in the tavern.  
After a few moments of silence, Lancelot spoke again: “If you really want to look at the bright side, none of the rest of us smell like Gawain. I think that’s the greatest blessing any of us could ask for.”  
Gawain glared over at the dark-haired young man beside him. He swung an elbow into Lancelot’s ribs before getting up and stalking out of the room. The effect of his angry exit was lessened considerably by the squeaking of his wet boots and the dripping of his cloak.  
\-----  
The next morning, Gawain woke to a pounding on his door. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and staring blearily at the door as it swung open and Lancelot swaggered in.  
“Good morning!” Lancelot sang out, making Gawain wince at the volume.  
“Go away,” Gawain growled, flopping backwards and pulling his blankets up over his head.  
“Can’t,” Lancelot teased, pulling the blankets away and heaving Gawain out of bed. “Arthur’s called a round table meeting in two hours. You need a bath before then.”  
“I do not,” Gawain grumbled, eyeing his weapons where he had set them the night before, but Lancelot had wisely dragged him in the opposite direction from them.  
“Trust me, if you could smell yourself, you’d agree with me,” Lancelot grunted as he shoved Gawain into the hallway.  
Gawain opened his mouth to retort, but choked and sputtered as he was drenched in a bucket of ice-cold water, flung over him by a cheekily-grinning Galahad. With a growl, he launched himself at the smirking knight, but the smaller man easily dodged the sloppy tackle and took off running down the hallway. Gawain followed, ignoring the fact that he was barefoot and dressed only in the trousers he’d hastily thrown on before going to bed the night before. The two tore through the hallways of the barracks, shouting insults, threats, and taunts back and forth.  
They stopped short as a door in front of them flew open and a tower of brawn and muscle stepped out into the hallway. “Enough!” Bors bellowed at them, his glare sending them flying back the way they came.  
Giving up his battle, Gawain gathered his things and headed for the Roman bathhouse near the barracks. The baths, in his opinion, were one of the few good things the Romans brought with them. He avoided the other occupants as he stripped, washed, rinsed, and redressed, mindful of the time. He hurried back to his room to strap his weapons and light armor on before heading for the meeting hall. He met Tristan on the way there, and the two nodded to one another before continuing side-by-side in silence. They entered together, the last to arrive, and took their seats at Arthur’s round table. Their half-Roman commander eyed them, an air of disappointment about him, but did not comment on their tardiness.  
“Knights,” Arthur nodded to the six rag-tag men seated around his table. “Good morning.”  
“Good morning,” Lancelot replied saucily. “Hope you slept well.”  
Arthur sent his second in command a look that informed Lancelot that the commander would be taking no attitude from him that day. “Rome has sent us a new mission,” Arthur continued. “We will be escorting a Roman family from their estate near here to the coast of Britain.”  
“Another one?” Bors commented. “That’ll be the, what, fifth one we’ve had in as many months?”  
“Third in sixth months,” Gawain corrected, prompting an eye-roll from Bors.  
“Whatever,” the older knight grumbled. “Why are all the Romans leaving?”  
“That is not our concern,” Arthur replied. “Our concern is our mission: getting them safely through Britain. We leave in an hour.”  
With that, they were dismissed. Wordlessly, the knights stood and filed from the room to prepare for the mission. They met again in the stables not long after, preparing their horses for the journey ahead.  
Gawain stroked his horse’s flank. The beast was tired from their ride the night before, he could tell, but would bear him for the coming quest.  
“Oi, little one!” Bors called and Gawain scowled at the childhood nickname. He was the youngest of the knights and always had been, having only been ten years old when the Romans stole him from his home and family. Galahad was the next oldest of the surviving knights, two years older than Gawain. For most of their lives, Gawain had been small and decidedly less than strong, but a few years ago he had grown suddenly. Now, he was as tall as Lancelot and Bors, and taller and easily stronger than Galahad. While Gawain sprouted, however, Galahad had not grown quickly at all. He was still slight and thin, the smallest of the knights, and remained incapable of growing a proper beard. This made Gawain look several years his senior, which irked him to no end.  
“I’m not so little anymore,” Gawain retorted, as he had every time Bors had called him ‘little’ over the past several years.  
“Little enough,” Bors taunted as he led his horse from the stables.  
“He meant to ask if you’re sure Gringolet can make the journey,” Dagonet, the tallest, biggest, and quietest of the knights, stopped by Gawain and the big grey and white dappled horse.  
“Yes,” Gawain nodded firmly. “He’ll carry me fine.”  
Dagonet nodded and continued from the stables after Bors. Lancelot went next, followed by Tristan, and finally Gawain. Arthur and Galahad already waited in the courtyard with their horses, Arthur imparting a few last-minute instructions to Jols, his steward, and the captain of the Roman guard. The two men nodded to Arthur and headed in opposite directions.  
Arthur glanced around at his knights and wordlessly mounted his horse. The knights followed suit, and, at Arthur’s command, rode out from the fort.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Violence/Blood mentions.

\-----  
That night, they camped in the woods. They were all grateful for a lack of rain as they made their camp and settled in for the night. Tristan, Bors, and Galahad were selected to keep watch through the night, and they settled down to sleep.  
It was during Galahad’s watch in the wee hours of the morning that they were attacked.  
The bandits—Roman deserters or criminals, they weren’t sure which—streamed out from the trees as silently as if they had been Woads. They nearly slit Galahad’s throat before he knew they were there and let out a strangled cry.  
Across the camp, Gawain woke to a scarred, grimacing face leering down at him. With a shout, he grabbed the axe he had laid at his side before falling asleep and swung it up into the Roman’s head, splitting the skull an splattering himself with brains and blood. He rolled out of the way of the falling carcass and was on his feet in an instant. One of his knives went flying across the campsite to bury in the face of Galahad’s assailant. That was his first mistake.  
As his attention was drawn towards Galahad’s plight, Gawain failed to notice the man creeping up behind him. It wasn’t until a sword was thrust through his shoulder that he realized someone was behind him. As soon as the sword was gone, he swung around, the axe in his hand whistling through the air until it met his foe’s neck, severing the man’s head from his body. Wincing in pain, he transferred his axe to his left hand and let the right hang limp; he could hardly move it thanks to the wound. His next opponent found Gawain’s axe buried in his skull before he could even raise his sword against the knight.  
Gawain glanced again towards Galahad, but could no longer see his friend through the melee. He swung his axe around just in time to catch a blow from another Roman, tangling the man’s sword under the blade of his axe. He planted a foot in the man’s crotch and kicked hard, sending him reeling backwards and directly into Tristan’s sword. The two nodded to each other, then turned to find new opponents.  
Gawain found himself face-to-face with a savagely-grinning man with a shaved head and wild beard. Gawain brandished his axe and growled ferally at the man. Instead of blanching at the animalistic action, as many of his opponents did, this man grinned wider and growled in return, brandishing a pair of long knives held in a reverse grip. Gawain swung his axe hard and fast at the man’s head, but he blocked with one of the knives, the other one speeding towards Gawain’s stomach. The knight spun out of the way, pulling hard on his axe in an attempt to wrest one of his opponent’s knives away, to no avail. Instead, the man twisted his wrist skillfully and managed to rip Gawain’s axe from him. With slight difficulty, the knight drew his sword, glaring at his opponent. He growled again, and sprung towards the man, who dodged easily.  
Gawain staggered slightly, trying to keep clear of the man’s wicked knives, and brought his sword about to meet a knife with a clash of metal. The other knife came flying again towards his stomach but he jerked out of the way. The knife missed his stomach, but buried halfway in his left thigh, eliciting a roar of pain from the injured knight. His opponent jumped away as Gawain brought his sword swinging around towards his neck, leaving the knife buried in Gawain’s thigh.   
Keeping his eyes on his opponent, Gawain reached down to remove the dagger from his thigh. He managed to slowly work it out without dropping his sword and, as he dropped the knife to the ground, his opponent leapt forward again, a foot speeding towards Gawain’s injured leg. It met his thigh just above the knee and the bone popped, crumpling Gawain to the ground. The man shoved him backwards and tossed his sword away, then pinned him with a knee on his chest and the other on his good arm. He raised his remaining knife to drive it through Gawain’s chest, but before he could bring it down, an arrow through completely through his neck. The man’s face registered complete shock, and he fell to the side.  
“Thanks,” Gawain gasped, blinking up at Galahad. He was beginning to see spots, and the knee the man had dug into his chest had cracked at least one rib.  
“Dag!” Galahad shouted. “Come quick!” he dropped his bow and fell to his knees beside Gawain, attempting to staunch the flow of blood from the wound in his friend’s shoulder. Dagonet appeared at the edge of Gawain’s vision, a worried look on his face. Wordlessly, he handed Galahad a piece of cloth, and Galahad pulled Gawain up to place it against the back of his shoulder. Gawain moaned in pain as Dagonet explored the wound in his leg.  
“How is he?” Arthur’s ever-worried voice came from somewhere around Gawain’s head, although he couldn’t see his commander.  
“Lost a lot of blood,” Dagonet replied. “The leg is broken, I think, and will need a splint, at least until I can tell for sure. This arm’s dislocated. The shoulder will need sutures, and the leg might. Probably a cracked rib or two as well.”  
“So, not good,” Bors summed up grimly, peering over Galahad.  
“Don’t worry,” Gawain croaked. “I’m not going to die and cost you your only decent sparring partner.” The dark spots in his eyes started to grow, and a roaring in his ears drowned out Bors’s reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, ideas, or concepts from the 2004 film King Arthur. I do, however, own this story itself, the idea(s) behind it, and the original characters presented herein.


	3. Chapter 3

Gawain woke to find himself lying on the ground, his left leg and both arms immobilized. “Ow,” he winced as he tried lift his head and look around.  
“Careful,” Dagonet cautioned. “Don’t try to move.”  
“I won’t,” Gawain rasped. “Where are we?”  
“Still in the clearing,” Dag replied. “Bors and Tristan are here too. Arthur and the others continued to the Roman house. You can’t ride; they’re going to bring a cart back for you.”  
“Sure I can ride,” Gawain scoffed.  
“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” Dag rolled his eyes. How are you feeling?”  
“Like shite,” Gawain grumbled.  
“Headache?” Dag asked.  
“Yes,” Gawain groaned.  
“Can you breathe alright?” Dag asked.  
“Yes,” Gawain mumbled.  
“Can you feel this?” Dag asked, poking Gawain’s left foot—which was, for some reason, bare—with the tip of a knife.  
“Yes,” Gawain winced.  
“Does this hurt?” Dag asked, pressing slightly against Gawain’s left bicep.  
“Yes!” Gawain howled.  
“What about—“  
“Touch me again and I’ll cut your ears off as soon as I can hold a knife,” Gawain interrupted him. A dark chuckle—Tristan—came from across the campsite.  
“Well, at least we know you’re going to be fine,” Dag teased, sitting back and keeping his hands away from Gawain.  
“What’s wrong with me?” Gawain asked after a few long moments.  
“You were stabbed through the right shoulder, which will take a long time to heal,” Dag began. “You have at least one broken rib. Your left shoulder was dislocated. You were stabbed in your left thigh. Your left thigh bone is cracked, I’m afraid, and will need to be splinted for a while. You won’t be able to put weight on your left leg for a long while.”  
“Great,” Gawain grumbled.  
“But you’re alive,” Dag finished. “And likely to stay that way, unless your wounds get infected.”  
“Unfortunately for the rest of us,” Bors called from across the camp.  
Gawain ignored the jab and closed his eyes, exhausted. The movement did not escape Dag’s notice. “Sleep,” he encouraged. “It’ll be hard to do so once we’re on the move, and you need to regain your strength.”  
\-----  
“How is he?”  
“He’ll make it, so long as infection doesn’t set in.”  
“Will he use his arm again?”  
“Most likely. Everything should heal just fine.”  
“When will he be able to walk again?”  
“I have no idea.”  
\-----  
Gawain’s eyes flew open and he cried out in pain, not knowing why.  
“Whoa!” a voice called somewhere above his head. Moments later, Dagonet appeared beside him.  
“Welcome back,” Dag grinned down at him. “You were out for a long while.”  
“We were worried,” Galahad added, appearing beside Dag.  
“How do you feel?” Dag asked.  
Gawain declined to answer, letting a vicious glare at Dag speak for itself.  
“What woke you up?” Dag asked.  
“I don’t know,” Gawain replied through gritted teeth.  
“Pain?” Dag asked.  
“Yes,” Gawain growled.  
Dag sighed. He disappeared for a moment, then returned bearing a small jar. “Poppy,” he explained. “It’ll help until we get to the villa.”  
Before Gawain could protest, Dag had already poured some of the liquid into his mouth. Against his will, his eyes slowly fluttered shut and he fell into oblivion.  
\-----  
The next time he woke, Gawain found himself staring up at a stone ceiling, blissfully warm, and lying on a fairly comfortable bed.  
“Hello,” a woman’s voice cooed, her face appearing over him. “I am Cybele. I tend to the sick here. I will send someone for your healer.”  
Gawain nodded wordlessly, and the woman’s face disappeared. He heard a door open and close, then voices speaking softly outside. He nearly jumped out of his skin when half a dozen loud, racking coughs rang out from his right. He turned his head—painfully—and saw a small girl, around sixteen years of age, with long chestnut hair and big brown eyes staring at him as she hacked.  
“Trying to get rid of a lung?” he joked. She merely stared at him through hollow, sunken eyes. “Sorry, never mind,” he muttered, turning his head to stare at the ceiling again.  
The door opened and closed again, and a pair of footsteps made its way to Gawain’s bedside. “Hello,” Dagonet smiled down at him. “How—“  
“Ask me that one more time…” Gawain threatened half-heartedly.  
“We’re setting out first thing tomorrow morning,” Dag informed him. “You’ll be riding in a wagon with this girl here,” he nodded towards the girl and Gawain turned his head to look at her again. She had hidden under her blankets and was peering out at them from under the edge of her quilt. She met his eyes, staring until she started coughing again. “She’s sick.” Dag pointed out. “She can’t breathe well, and can hardly walk. So you’ll be riding together, and I’ll check in with you every now and again.”  
Gawain sighed but nodded. “Well, at least I’ll have someone to talk to,” he observed.  
Dag chuckled. “Not quite. According to the other servants here, she’s been mute since she was found in the woods by their men several years ago.” He eyed his friend, laid out on the bed in front of him. “You should rest for now. It’s going to be a long trip to the coast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: See chapter 1.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Gawain and the girl were loaded into a wagon as last-minute preparations were made for the departure. He was settled against the side of the wagon, his leg propped on pillows and his body packed around with blankets against the late autumn chill. His right arm hung uselessly in a sling, the wound in his shoulder aching. His left arm remained free, although he couldn’t use it much. Dagonet had explained that his left shoulder had only been pushed partially out of joint, and should heal quickly, allowing him full use of the arm in no time. A dull, throbbing ache radiated from the injury in his leg, accompanied by a burning pain from the wound above it. His ribs ached as well, and each breath was accompanied by sharp pain in his side. In short, Gawain was decidedly uncomfortable and extremely grumpy.

“Morning,” Galahad grinned up at him. “How’re you feeling?”

“The next person to ask me that will get a knife in the eye as soon as I can wield one,” Gawain growled.

“Better, then,” Galahad chuckled, but opted to ride off and help with the preparations than risk angering his injured friend.

Gawain sighed and rested his head against the wall of the wagon behind him. Dagonet had permitted him to sit up, since it would help him breathe more easily. He felt eyes watching him and turned to find the small girl openly staring at him from across the wagon. She was swaddled generously in blankets and huddled against the side of the wagon, staring at him through the only open spot in her blanket cocoon. Gawain leveled a wicked glare at her, and she immediately yanked a blanket over her eyes, hiding from him. He sighed again and settled back. It was going to be a  _ very _ long journey.

\-----

Throughout the day, the other knights stopped by the wagon, walking their horses beside it to chat with Gawain. Besides these short conversations, the injured knight sat quietly, watching the forest crawl by outside the wagon. The silence inside was broken only by the ragged, wet coughs of the girl, who remained huddled in her blankets.

“Gawain?” Arthur’s voice snapped Gawain out of a half-asleep daze.

“Arthur,” Gawain replied huskily, then coughed to clear sleep from his throat.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier, I was busy making preparations and getting everyone moving,” the half-Roman commander apologized.

“’s fine,” Gawain replied. He almost shrugged but thought better of it at the pain in his shoulders.

“I hear you’ve been threatening Dagonet and Galahad,” Arthur said, lifting an eyebrow.

“They keep asking me how I feel,” Gawain rolled his eyes. “As if it isn’t obvious.” He winked at Arthur to let the serious commander know he was joking.

“Bear with it,” Arthur smiled. “Would you threaten me if I asked?”

Gawain thought for a moment. “Probably not,” he sighed resignedly. “You’re my commander, after all. It won’t do to threaten you.”

“Well then, how do you feel?” Arthur chuckled.

Gawain paused. “I ache,” he admitted. “And I feel weak. I don’t like that.”

Arthur smiled slightly again. “It will pass. Rest and heal, and you’ll be fighting at our sides again in no time.”

For some reason, the commander’s words helped more than anything anyone else had said to him yet. “Thanks,” Gawain offered Arthur a small, true, smile. The dark-haired commander nodded at him and rode ahead.

After Arthur departed, Gawain found the girl huddled towards the front of the wagon staring at him again. He sighed, but smiled at her. “Hello there,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean to scare you earlier; I’m sorry for that.”

Slowly, she pushed the blankets back slightly to reveal her whole face. She had warm brown eyes, sunken and rimmed with dark circles from lack of sleep. The tip of her small nose was red, and she snuffled often as it ran. Her round cheeks were pale, but still had a pink tinge to them, suggesting that they were naturally rosy when she was well. Her lips were also pale and chapped, the bottom one so dry that it was split in two places. Tendrils of chestnut hair were plastered to her forehead, stuck down by the weight of the blankets heaped on top of her.

Gawain eyed her as she stared at him. He offered her another smile, and she responded with a small upturn of her lips. Finally, she blinked slowly, then yawned. She sniffed hugely, which sent her into a wracking bout of coughs. Gawain winced as she hacked; it really did sound like she was going to spit up a lung, if not both. Eventually, the coughing spasm ended, and she turned around to spit phlegm out the window of the wagon, halfway emerging from her cocoon. When she settled back down, she only pulled one blanket back up onto her shoulders and resumed staring at Gawain. She offered him an apologetic smile and leaned back against the side of the wagon.

The silence that filled the wagon after that was considerably more amicable, rather than awkward, punctured by her racking coughs. As the day ended, Arthur called a halt and the small caravan stopped in a clearing next to the road. The wagons were circled, horses tied inside the ring, and people began bustling around, gathering firewood and making dinner.

“How’d you like to come out for a while?” Dagonet’s face appeared at the opening of the wagon, smiling slightly at its occupants.

“Sounds great,” Gawain groaned, shifting slightly. He’d hardly moved all day, and was stiff from inaction. The girl nodded eagerly, wiggling out from under her blankets.

Dagonet grinned and reached out to lift her down from the wagon. When he set her down, she promptly disappeared under the edge of the wagon; Gawain hadn’t realized that she was that small. Dag snagged one of her blankets and wrapped it around her shoulders, then clambered into the wagon for Gawain. With some griping, groaning, and yelps of pain, Dag got Gawain up in his arms and to the end of the wagon, where he handed him down to Bors before hopping down himself. The girl was hovering shyly nearby, watching them as they carried the youngest knight to the campfire and settled him on the ground. She tagged along behind them, and silently sat next to Gawain, watching everyone around them set up camp.

“I can walk, you know,” Gawain grumbled as Dag and Bors set him down.

“Not until I’m sure what’s wrong with your leg,” Dag replied, turning and following Bors away from the fire.

“Hello, dearie,” an elderly woman smiled warmly at the girl by Gawain’s side. The girl smiled back, her eyes lighting up with the expression; it was the most and truest emotion had seen her emit all day. “And you,” the woman turned her smile on Gawain. “How are you feeling?”

Biting back the comment that immediately rose to his lips, Gawain instead gave her a kind smile. “About as well as can be expected, I suppose.”

The woman chuckled slightly and returned to her work: peeling and chopping vegetables to add to a pot that was beginning to boil on the fire in front of them.

Gawain sat silently, watching the woman and the fire in turns for a few minutes, the warmth radiating from the girl at his side keeping her at the forefront of his mind. “What’s her name?” he asked suddenly, looking at the woman.

“That little one?” the woman nodded at Gawain’s new friend. “We call her Claudia.”

“Call her?” Gawain repeated.

“Some of the men from the villa found her in the woods about five or six years ago,” the woman explained. “She was wandering around on her own, injured, so they brought her back with them. She hasn’t spoken so much as a word since, so we gave her a name.”

Gawain glanced down at her and smiled softly. “Nice to meet you, then, Claudia.”

The girl stared up at him with wide eyes for a few moments then grinned widely in response, before settling closer to his side.

As darkness fell, the other knights and some of the villa’s residents joined them around the fire. Others huddled around other fires burning in the clearing, where other pots of stew were bubbling. Dinner was eaten quickly and quietly as their breath began frosting in the air around them. After they ate, Bors and Dagonet again carried Gawain back to the wagon, lifting Claudia in after him. Dagonet settled his two patients down for the night, checking Gawain’s bandages and splint, and giving the knight a draught of herbal tea he’d cooked up over the fire, claiming it would help him sleep. On the other side of the wagon, Claudia settled into her nest of blankets, pulling several over her shivering body. When Dag was done with Gawain, he turned his attentions to the girl, giving her some of the same tea before tucking the blankets securely around her. Once he was sure his patients were settled comfortably, he left the wagon. Gawain was almost asleep when Dag returned, making himself comfortable in the opening of the wagon. He smiled to himself, knowing that Dag was staying close to protect them in case of another surprise attack in the middle of the night. He felt safe at that thought, and slept easily that night.


	5. Chapter 5

The next few days followed a similar pattern. Gawain and Claudia rode in their wagon, visited occasionally by the other knights and Arthur, and at night Dagonet slept in the opening to the wagon to protect them. The caravan encountered little trouble as it passed through Britain, and most of this came in the form of wild animals rather than mischief-making humans.

Shortly after lunch one day—due to the size of the party, they usually stopped for a midday meal, much to Arthur’s frustration, as it slowed their pace considerably—Lancelot rode up beside the wagon. Galahad, who was already riding beside Gawain when Lancelot came up along the other side, traded a confused glance with Gawain. When Lancelot began chatting idly—and one-sidedly—to Claudia, Galahad bit back a laugh and rode ahead.

“Hello there,” Lancelot said, flashing his most charming smile at the girl. Claudia arched an eyebrow and watched the dark-haired knight as he paced his horse alongside the wagon. “How are you today?”

There was a pause of several seconds before Claudia started another of her coughing fits. She hacked half a dozen times before leaning out the window and hawking a wad of spit and phlegm at the ground.

“I see,” Lancelot leaned away slightly, as though to avoid a similar missile aimed in his direction. He rode in silence—a true rarity—before again attempting conversation. “What is your name? I don’t think I’ve heard it.”

Claudia glanced over her shoulder at Gawain, who was stifling laughter. He smiled slightly and spoke: “Her name’s Claudia.”

Lancelot cast a glare in Gawain’s direction, but turned back to the girl. “Claudia? That’s a pretty name. Roman.”

Claudia blinked. Gawain tried not to laugh. Lancelot fidgeted in his saddle.

“You’re very pretty,” Lancelot said, trying a different tactic. “You don’t look very Roman, though. Not that Roman women aren’t pretty,” he caught himself hastily. “But what I mean is you don’t look Roman, yet you have a Roman name…”

As Lancelot trailed off, Claudia yawned widely, sending Gawain into fit of barely-restrained laughter. He ended up choking from the effort, and covered it with a round of coughs when both Lancelot and the girl looked in his direction, Lancelot confused and Claudia amused.

Lancelot turned once again to Claudia, deciding on another approach to attempt. “You have gorgeous eyes,” he said smoothly. Gawain nearly choked again, and had to bite his knuckle to keep from making a sound. Lancelot was clearly growing frustrated with the lack of response from the girl, which only added to Gawain’s amusement.

“Not very chatty, are you?” Lancelot grumbled after several long moments of silence from the girl. She smiled wanly.

Lancelot looked back at Gawain, who quickly hid his smile and shrugged at the other knight as though confused by Claudia’s silence. He had no intention of telling Lancelot that the girl he was attempting to flirt with was mute.

Lancelot continued to ride beside the wagon, occasionally attempting conversation with Claudia. His efforts went unanswered, clearly frustrating him. As the afternoon wore on, Lancelot became more and more annoyed with each direction of conversation that Claudia ignored.

“What are you doing?” Arthur’s voice, decidedly less amused than Gawain felt, came suddenly from the bronze-haired knight’s side, making him jump. Lancelot and Claudia looked to the Roman, who stared at them with a single eyebrow arched.

“Just making conversation,” Lancelot replied, winking at the girl, who mirrored Arthur’s expression.

“Next time you try that, you might look for a partner who can actually speak,” Dagonet sounded significantly more entertained than Arthur as he rode up beside Lancelot, passing the younger knight, who now looked equal parts furious and embarrassed. Without another word, he spurred his horse and rode off, followed by a chuckling Dagonet. Arthur followed after casting a reproving glance at Gawain.

Alone again, Gawain glanced at Claudia. She sent a small smile his way, clearly having enjoyed her time taunting Lancelot. Gawain returned the smile, and companionable silence once again filled the wagon.


	6. Chapter 6

Over a week after they set out, Dagonet agreed to let Gawain start trying to put weight on his leg. The swelling had finally gone down, and Dag had determined that the bone was not, in fact, broken, much to Gawain’s relief. His left shoulder still twinged when he moved it, but the wound in the right was healing quickly. He doubted that he would be able to rest much of his weight on his leg any time soon, but with the help of his brothers-in-arms, he would hopefully be able to begin hobbling around rather than being carried.

So, when they stopped for the night and Dagonet and Bors had maneuvered him out of the wagon, Gawain stood on his right leg, leaning against the wagon for support. The other knights were gathered around, watching, while Claudia remained perched on the edge of the wagon behind him.

“Ready,” Gawain nodded firmly. Galahad and Lancelot stepped forward, and he slung his arms around their shoulders, hopping between them awkwardly. Dagonet hovered nervously as Gawain cautiously straightened his left leg, letting his foot rest on the ground under him. 

Biting his lip, Gawain moved his leg forward as Galahad and Lancelot each took a small step forward. Bracing himself for the pain he knew would come, he allowed most of his weight to rest on his brothers as he lifted his right leg and brought the foot beside his left. He gasped sharply in pain, but steeled himself and took another tiny step alongside his brothers, breathing shakily. They made it to the nearest fire, and Galahad and Lancelot helped him sit before heading off to help set up camp. After dinner, they helped him back to the wagon, where Claudia was already sleeping.

\-----

The next morning, Gawain woke to find that his knee was swollen to nearly double its normal size. He groaned, but pushed himself into a sitting position, keeping a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The days had gotten steadily colder through the journey; winter would reach Britain soon.

“Morning,” Galahad grinned at him from the opening of the wagon. Gawain arched an eyebrow at the cheerful greeting, and grunted in reply. “Tristan has something for you,” Galahad added as the scout appeared beside him.

Tristan smirked and help up a pair of crude wooden crutches. “Dag’s request. He says you’re allowed to walk a bit on your own, so long as you take it easy.”

Gawain felt his face stretch into a wide grin as Tristan slid the crutches into the wagon, placing them with Gawain’s armor and weapons in a pile at the front of the wagon. “Thanks!” he called as the scout wandered away.

“How’s she?” Galahad nodded towards the small, blanket encased form of Claudia beside Gawain.

Gawain shrugged and reached over to shake Claudia by the shoulder in an attempt to wake her. He was met with a pained groan and a series of loud coughs, but she didn’t move otherwise. Concerned, Gawain pulled the blankets away from where he thought her head was and found her pale face, eyes still closed and cheeks flushed. He placed a hand on her forehead and frowned. “Get Dag, will you?” he said to Galahad.

Wordlessly, the dark-haired knight nodded and hurried off to find the healer. Dagonet was there in minutes, and climbed into the wagon to check on Claudia.

“Not good?” Gawain asked, heart sinking at Dag’s frown.

“No,” Dag replied shortly.

Over the next few days, Dagonet rode in the wagon with Gawain and Claudia, tending to the sick girl. Her illness had grown worse with the cold weather, and continued to do so, despite Dagonet’s ministrations. She burned with a fever, and slept much of the time, although she continued to cough when she was awake. On the rare occasion that she was not asleep, she whimpered and moaned in delirium, writhing beneath her heavy blankets. Dagonet coaxed as much food as he could into her, which wasn’t much. He had more success with his herbal teas, but they did little good.

As Claudia worsened, Gawain grew stronger. At first, it was beyond painful to rest weight on his leg, and he moved slowly even on Tristan’s crutches, but after a few days he noticed that the pain was beginning to lessen. Every time the caravan stopped, one of the other knights would help him out of the wagon and he would hobble back and forth, building up the strength in his leg.

\---

Towards the close of the second week of their journey, Gawain woke in the middle of the night to the sound of Dag drawing his sword.

“What is it?” he whispered softly as he propped himself up on his elbows, wincing at the pain the action sent shooting out from the wound in his right shoulder.

“Something in the trees,” Dag murmured. “Stay down.”

Obediently, Gawain lay back, listening for movement in the surrounding forest. He heard nothing for several long minutes, until the slightest of rustles caught his attention. Something about it raised the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck; this was no animal sound. Someone was out there.

A scream sounded from across the camp, followed by the shouting of several people. Seconds after, the sound of fighting reached their ears.

“Woads!” Arthur’s bellow came from across the camp.

Dagonet leapt from the mouth of the wagon to drive his sword through the chest of a Woad that appeared there. Moments later, he was gone, but his grunts and the sounds of his massive sword meeting iron and—more often—flesh rang out from the side of the wagon.

Gawain lay still and silent, offering a prayer to any god or goddess who would listen to keep safe him and the girl who lay in her fever beside him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt such terror as now clutched his heart as the sounds of battle drew ever closer and closer to the wagon. He wished Dag had left him with some sort of weapon, even if he could not wield it well. He didn’t want to die unarmed.

A loud thud sounded as someone leapt into the wagon. Gawain jerked into a sitting position and stared, wide-eyed, at the blue-painted figure that stood there, lit unnaturally by the silver moonlight that streamed through the wagon’s open sides. Slowly, Gawain raised his hands, wincing at the pain in his right shoulder, to show that he was unarmed. Beside him, Claudia tossed slightly and moaned with fever. The Woad looked back and forth between the two, taking them in for several long moments. Finally, he made up his mind and turned, leaping from the wagon—

—directly onto Dagonet’s waiting sword. Gawain gasped with relief, expelling a breath he hadn’t realized he held.

“Are you alright?” Dag asked worriedly, climbing into the wagon and hurrying to check on his patients.

“Yeah,” Gawain nodded, slumping against the side of the wagon. “What’s going on out there?”

“We sent them running,” Dagonet replied, kneeling by Claudia. “Killed most of ‘em, and any that escaped won’t be back any time soon.”

Gawain sighed in relief and allowed Dagonet to lay him back. “Everyone else?”

“A few scratches and scrapes, but mostly fine,” Dag soothed. “Galahad managed to avoid injury. Bors is worst off; one of the Woads got a good strike at his head, but it doesn’t look to have done much damage.”

“I doubt anyone could damage Bors’s head,” Gawain scoffed.

Dag laughed. “True enough. He’ll scar, and Vanora will worry, but he’ll be fine.” He patted Gawain’s shoulder reassuringly. “Sleep now. We’re fine.”


	7. Chapter 7

They set out the next morning under heavy rainfall. Bors spent the morning in the wagon with them in an attempt on Dagonet’s part to keep his wound dry. When they stopped for lunch, Bors left the wagon and refused to come back into it, as it had stopped raining and he was tired of being cooped up.

“How do you think I feel?” Gawain quipped mildly.

Bors glared at him, but continued to refuse to ride in the wagon any longer, and Dag finally gave up the battle.

The movement of the caravan was painfully slow, thanks to Britain’s signature wet weather. It rained nearly every night, and most days as well, turning the roads into nearly impassable rivers of mud. Arthur was not discreet about his impatience; they had planned to be back at the fort within two weeks, and as the second drew to a close, they were still days away from the coast at best.

The first snow reached them two and a half weeks after their journey had begun. Gawain laughed as Galahad glared up at the sky and shook his fist at the clouds. Fat, white flakes of snow floated towards the ground, a wicked wind blowing them into the wagon through the open sides.

Dagonet grumbled, glaring at the snow that flurried through the side of the wagon to rest on top of Claudia. Wordlessly, he snatched one of Gawain’s blankets and pinned it over the opening, driving small daggers through each corner to hold it in place.

Galahad laughed at the healer’s actions, and Gawain hid a smile until Dag stole another blanket and hung it over the open side Gawain was leaning out of. With a sigh and a half-hearted glare at the healer, Gawain settled back, his only contact to the rest of the world cut off.

With the snow came a drastic drop in temperatures, which, while unpleasant for the travelers, managed to partially freeze the muddy roads, speeding up their progress. Also with the snow came a surprising improvement in Claudia’s health. She’d had a low fever off and on for the better part of a week, was still coughing horribly, and was rarely conscious. However, the morning after the first snow, Gawain woke to find her kneeling in her nest of blankets, peering around the makeshift curtain over the side of the wagon.

“Morning,” he yawned, stretching slowly, cautious of his injured shoulder. The left was back to normal, surprisingly, although the right still had some healing to do and the weather wasn’t helping the aches in it and his leg.

Claudia turned around and grinned shyly at him, and he smiled back. Dagonet, sleeping in his accustomed spot in the front of the wagon, woke a few minutes later and busied himself checking on Claudia. He insisted that both of his patients remain in the wagon and brought them breakfast, informing them that he was going to be riding with the other knights that day. Gawain knew by the statement that his friend was as frustrated with being cooped up in the wagon as he was himself.

Once the wagon had started moving, Gawain unpinned the corner of the blanket over the wagon side nearest him, pushing it away and repinning it so that he could peer out. He heard a rustle of blankets and felt a warmth press itself against his side. He glanced down into the gaunt, pale face of Claudia, whose questioning eyes searched his. With a mock sigh, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, keeping her close. She was still wrapped in half a dozen blankets, at least, but he could feel her shivering beside him.

“Morning,” Galahad appeared beside the wagon and peered in at its occupants. “Hello,” he smiled kindly at the girl at Gawain’s side. “It’s good to see you doing better.”

Claudia smiled shyly in return and buried her face in Gawain’s side. Galahad and Gawain traded smiles, and the dark-haired knight remained in pace with the wagon, chatting on and off with his injured friend.

Sometime in the afternoon, after Galahad had been called forwards by Arthur, Bors was riding beside Gawain, griping about how angry his consort, Vanora, would be with him for being gone so long.

“And what if she has the baby while we’re gone?” Bors’s eyes widened with fear. “She’ll kill me! She’ll kill me, skin me, and use my skin to make clothes for the baby!”

“She was, what, five months along when we left?” Gawain laughed. “She’s not going to have the baby before we get back, unless it takes us another three and a half to reach the fort.”

“Arthur might decide to winter on the coast,” Bors suggested. “Going inland through the middle of winter would be a bad idea.”

Gawain shook his head. “Arthur’s as impatient to get back as the rest of us. He’s not going to winter on the coast. And it’s hardly the middle of winter; autumn’s just ending as is. We’ll be back to the fort before winter really starts, and in plenty of time for you to be with Vanora when the baby’s born.”

Bors shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, but didn’t argue. They continued to move in silence for several minutes. “Think it’ll be a boy or a girl?”

Gawain shrugged. “Girl,” he guessed. “You haven’t had one for ages.”

“I’m hoping for another boy,” Bors grinned.

“You have seven already,” Gawain reminded him. “And only three girls.”

“But a boy I can train to fight,” Bors’s grin widened. “Girls’ll have to work with Vanora in the tavern.”

“Not necessarily,” Gawain shrugged. “Most of the women back home are fighters… if I remember right.”

Bors thought for a moment, then nodded agreement. “True. And my oldest is always getting into fights with boys twice ‘er size.”

Gawain laughed. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because she’s mine,” Lancelot, who had ridden up beside Bors in time to catch the last statement. The comment earned him a cuff from the burly knight that nearly knocked him out of his saddle, and he rode ahead, laughing wickedly.

“More like because she’s Vanora’s,” Gawain grinned at Bors, who was still glaring after Lancelot. There were more than a few times that Gawain could remember over the past fourteen years when he had gotten on the fiery redhead’s bad side and paid dearly for it. Bors half laughed, half grunted in agreement.

They fell silent again, and Gawain glanced down at the bundle of warmth by his side. She was breathing evenly, but shallowly. She was much better than she had been, and didn’t cough as much, but remained unable to take a deep breath without erupting into a coughing fit, which she had a few times throughout the day.

As night began to fall, they stopped again for the night, circling their wagons and beginning preparations for yet another night out into the cold. Gawain and Claudia were allowed out of the wagon by Dagonet, and Gawain eagerly hobbled to the nearest fire on his crutches, Claudia following him like a shadow. As they watched the stew over the fire bubble and boil, the sound of a galloping horse drew their attention to the road. A single horse burst into the circle of wagons through a gap and Tristan dismounted, hurrying to where Arthur sat with the patriarch of the villa, leaving his horse to be tied up by Bors.

“Wonder what that is,” Gawain mumbled as he watched Tristan and Arthur on the other side of the camp. Whatever it was, it had the stoic scout positively animated—well, about as animated as Tristan ever got. Eventually Arthur nodded, and Tristan hurried over to the fire where Gawain, Claudia, and the other knights had settled down and begun eating.

“What’s going on?” Lancelot demanded around a mouthful of food.

“We’ll reach the coast tomorrow,” Tristan said confidently. “Probably sometime in the afternoon. The port isn’t far away, and most of the road between here and there is dry or frozen mud, so it should be quick going.”

The knights all appeared relieved, and the air around the campfire became significantly more positive as Tristan sat between Bors and Galahad and accepted a bowl of stew from the woman who had been cooking.

The caravan set out earlier than usual the next morning, and pressed on harder than they had over the past weeks. Gawain and Claudia watched the trees thin out as they drew nearer and nearer to the coast, finally giving way to grassy plains.

By lunchtime, they could smell salt on the air, and the ocean could be heard pounding against rocks a few hours later. It was dinnertime when they finally reached the port city that had been their destination. The wagons clattered into the city and towards the villa of its governor, who was to house the Roman household they had escorted until the final ship left before winter set in.

Gawain grinned out the side of the wagon as they came to a stop outside the governor’s villa. He scooted forward and grabbed his crutches, Dagonet appearing just in time to help him down from the wagon. The giant lifted Claudia down as well, and the girl padded along behind Gawain as he hobbled into the courtyard. Arthur and the patriarch met with the governor, who welcomed the patriarch and his family warmly as Arthur slipped away.

“We’ll stay at an inn tonight,” Arthur said as his knights gathered around, “and leave in the morning. Dagonet, can Gawain ride?”

Dagonet shrugged. “Maybe. If he can, he’ll be in a lot of pain. And he won’t be able to go too fast.”

Arthur frowned. “Would it be better to see if we can find a cart?”

“Either that, or he and I can ride behind and meet you back at the fort,” Dag suggested.

“Gawain?” Arthur turned to his youngest knight. “Do you have a preference?”

“I’ll keep up,” Gawain replied. “Don’t worry about me.”

Arthur eyed him up but nodded. “Fine. We’ll leave tomorrow morning. Hopefully we’ll make good time and reach the fort in less than a week.”

The knights nodded in reply to their leader, who set out with Tristan in search of an inn for the night. Lancelot, Galahad, Bors, and Dagonet scattered to collect their horses and things, leaving Gawain standing awkwardly in the entry to the villa’s courtyard. He felt the brush of a hand against his fingers, and glanced down to find Claudia standing beside him. She stared mournfully up at him, and he offered a small smile in return. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m sure Rome will be… interesting, at the least.”

She smiled slightly at the joke, but looked sadly back the way they had come through the city. He caught the glance and followed it, understanding what she meant by it. “But you’re a Briton, aren’t you? You’ve grown up in the forests and fields of this island. You’ll never make it in a city like Rome, huh?”

Claudia turned to face him and shook her head vigorously, tears sparkling in her eyes. Her small hand snaked out and grabbed hold of his wrist, and her pleading eyes bored into his.

Gawain sighed and shook his head. “I can’t take you with me. It’s not my place. And even if I could, where would you go?” Of course, the girl didn’t respond; she merely cast her eyes to the ground, biting her lower lip.

Gawain watched her for a few moments, then sighed again and lifted her chin with the hand she wasn’t gripping. “I’ll make you a promise, okay? In a year, I’ll be free. I’ll come and see you, then, in Rome. Okay? Just, at least until then, stay with these people. They’ll take care of you.”

The girl nodded slowly, looking back up at him. Suddenly, she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight hug. He released one of his crutches and awkwardly wrapped an arm around her back, holding her up. Before he released her, he felt her move her head and whisper a single word in his ear: “Cymbeline.”

Startled, Gawain nearly dropped the girl. She stepped back and smiled slightly, raising a finger to her lips before darting away towards the servant women of the household.

“Gawain!” Galahad called, waving at him from where they had left their horses. He began to hobble towards them. “Tristan and Arthur found an inn for us to stay at tonight! Let’s go!”

Gawain spared a final glance back towards his small companion, who was also watching him. She smiled and waved, and he returned the smile with a wink, promising her that her secret was safe with him, before continuing towards his brothers.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, ideas, or concepts from the 2004 film King Arthur. I do, however, own this story itself, the idea(s) behind it, and the original characters presented herein.


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